


Like Real People Do

by Dirthera



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Emotionally Repressed, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 06:09:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7032421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirthera/pseuds/Dirthera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merrill had a rough day, and Isabela sings to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Real People Do

**Author's Note:**

> I was sad and couldn't sleep and should have been writing on my longfic but I had this idea stuck in my head ever since I heard the song "Like Real People Do" by Hozier while thinking about Merribela earlier today, so I just had to write this. Having listened to the song prior to reading is good, but not necessary, so if you haven't heard the song before, that's okay.

Isabela was humming softly into Merrill’s hair, lying behind her, bending like a question mark about her small frame. One arm was slung across the elf’s waist, the other nestled under her head, absentmindedly stroking her black braids. Merrill looked exhausted, and Isabela knew she did too. She was. She was exhausted and worn out and there was a feeling in her chest, growing bigger and bigger, threatening to spill through her mouth in the form of words, to reveal everything she kept so carefully guarded. So she hummed, but tonight it was still not enough.

So the humming turned into singing.

 _“I had a thought, dear, however scary, about that night, the bugs and the dirt,”_ she began, her voice low and throaty, letting this out so she could keep everything else in. Merrill calmed in her arms, muscles relaxing and mind quieting at the sound of Isabela’s song.

_“Why were you digging? What did you bury before those hands pulled me from the earth?”_

As she sang, Isabela thought back on the first time she had met the small woman, how she had been with Hawke when Isabela had needed help, how she had looked at her with those big, green eyes, never judging, looking like she was attempting to understand, looking like she genuinely wanted to know Isabela. Not just be her friend, but actually know her. To Isabela, those two things would always be different.

_“I will not ask you where you came from, I will not ask and neither should you.”_

The song was slow and melancholy, but just what they both needed. Merrill curled up tighter, lacing her fingers into Isabela’s, and Isabela squeezed her hand slightly, attempting to offer up some small comfort. They had never truly spoken about the things they had gone through. The things they had done, the things that had been done to them, the things they remembered, the things they’d rather forget. Neither wanted to talk about it, and neither wanted to push the other to do so. They existed in a mutual understanding that they both felt broken. That they both had pasts, and that they would carry them wherever they went.

_“Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do.”_

She paused, hearing the melody in her head, the break before the next verse, head temporarily nuzzled in Merrill’s braids, breathing in her scent. She allowed herself a short moment to _feel_ , let the thing crowding her chest rise up, let it fill her throat, let it crowd her mouth, lips sealed tight so as not to let it travel further, then swallowed it down again, packing it tightly into the place it could rest, would rest, had to rest, for it was not welcome any other place. She sealed it tight and opened her mouth again.

_“I knew that look, dear, eyes always seeking. Was there someone that dug long ago?”_

She kissed the top of Merrill’s head tenderly, bending the arm she had positioned under the smaller woman’s head, letting it reach up to play with her small braids and stroke her hair.

_“So I will not ask you why you were creeping, in some sad way I already know.”_

Isabela looked at the tiny woman in her arms, properly looked, and the feeling began welling up in her. Merrill was so beautiful. Not because of her looks, not because of her raven black hair, nor her lithe frame, nor her tattooed face, nor her beautiful green eyes, now closed. These were all beautiful, but they were not what made her beautiful.

_“I will not ask you where you came from, I will not ask and neither will you.”_

No, it was the small breath she exhaled and inhaled as she listened to Isabela sing, it was the way she shuddered when Isabela played with her hair, the way her voice lilted when she spoke, the color red she turned when Isabela would make dirty jokes (even though Isabela had heard plenty Dalish dirty jokes from Merrill, and it seemed the elf had no problem with them). It was how wide-eyed and naïve she seemed, it was how she trusted in everyone, how she loved and respected every one of their friends, whether the feeling was mutual or not.

_“Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips.”_

It was how she was always cheerful, how she had been through so much, and still come out the other end with her optimism intact. Isabela did not know the specifics, but it was obvious there was something, from her quieter moments, the times when the sunny outside fell away and the deeply hurt and frightened girl came out. This girl had been through so much.

_“We should just kiss like real people do.”_

It was in these moments, when Merrill was at her most vulnerable, that Isabela loved her the most. It was in these moments she could see the way they fit, like puzzle pieces, their cracks fitting perfectly together, creating something… not whole, but something beautiful, something good. Something necessary.

_“I could not ask you where you came from.”_

Isabela could feel the big black thing inside her begin to rise again, threatening to choke her, threatening to overwhelm her, threatening to break out, to alert Merrill of its presence, threatening to break the shell that was her shield. She tried to push it back, but it just kept advancing.

_“I could not ask and neither could you.”_

Isabela’s voice dropped to almost a whisper, not wanting her voice to shake, not wanting to feel this… thing that was rising up and covering her insides, painting them, holding her hostage. She tried to draw a breath and choked on it, feeling the start of a sob rise in her throat. She sat up, gently, hoping Merrill was asleep, shutting her eyes tight, biting her teeth together, trying to keep any sound from escaping her. She could feel wetness in her eyes, and silently cursed herself.

A voice rang out in the silence, soft and high and clear, a stark contrast to Isabela’s low and throaty one. _“Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips.”_

Isabela could feel Merrill sitting across from her, and then small hands were on her shoulders, and butterfly kisses were landing on her cheek, her eyes, her nose, her chin, her eyes, her forehead, her ears, her cheekbones, her eyes, her eyes, _her eyes_ , fingers following under, wiping away the tears as they fell, the darkness pouring out of her in steady streams down her cheeks. A small sob escaped her mouth, and a light kiss was placed there too.

After a hundred million of these tiny kisses had been delivered, after the tears had stopped running, after the sobs had stopped coming, after what was left of the darkness had retreated, Merrill leaned against the headboard of their bed, pulling Isabela’s back against her, placing a kiss in her hair.

Her high, clear voice almost whispered the last line into Isabela’s hair.

_“We could just kiss like real people do.”_


End file.
